The Captive, the Captor and the Cursed
by OliveBranchStories
Summary: The druids champion, Merlin, is captured by the Pendragons. None of the druids can save him and the dragon has been ordered away. Luckily, Freya isn't a dragon, nor is she just a druid. Her curse allows her to become something nobody else can; this curse her puts her in the unique position of being able to save Merlin's life. Written because the world needs more BAMF!Freya/Bastet


G'day everyone,

This story idea originated from my bafflement that not more people had taken advantage of the fact that Freya turns into a _giant winged panther! _I've seen a couple involving the rampaging Bastet, but none where Freya uses it to her, or anyone else's, advantage.

So, here it is, some BAMF!Bastet, or BAMF!Freya…or whatever.

Enjoy :)

The night was dark and clear, the white stars bright and flickering and far away. It was cold, very cold, without clouds to insulate the earth its warmth was being leached out into space. There was no moon so the land was wreathed in a blackness broken only by the tower jutting into the sky like a hulking black rock from the ocean. It was covered in torches, the orange-yellow glow of the fire casting sharp and uneven shadows across its surface. There were also platforms clinging to the outside of the tower where smaller torches paced the little space they had, held by guards and knights who held crossbows loosely with their other hands. Where the tower joined with the outer walls of the citadel were three large bonfires and more guards, and near these bonfires were large contraptions attached to swivelling rigs. Crouching wood and metal and rope, these monstrous versions of the crossbows held by the guards kept startling the men and women soldiers when they seemed to move in the firelight just at the edge of their vision. These giant crossbows were loaded and ready, built and maintained for one target. The Great Dragon. Should the great dragon come to rescue the tower's prisoner they would be waiting…waiting and ready to fill his body with sharp iron.

Of course the dragon wouldn't come. He couldn't, in fact, come. The prisoner was a Dragonlord and had ordered him to keep away, to save himself. This had been before the iron shackles had been placed on the Dragonlord to hold his magic in, but the order had been made and now was in the dragon's own blood. The soldiers of Camelot didn't know this. The King had warned them about the selfishness and cruelty of sorcerers, and so summoning a giant, blood-thirsty, fire-breathing magical lizard to rein death and destruction onto his enemies seemed right up the prisoner's alley.

There were other defensive mechanisms. The castle was paved with stone inlaid with iron and around the perimeter there was occasionally a lamp burning sacred druid plants or simply a wooden pole driven into the ground, the sharpened tip coated in silvery-red unicorn blood. These measures were very effective in repelling any potential magical ground-assault. Sorcerers and sorceresses hated the smell of smoke and the sight of unicorn blood.

Up in the tower the prisoner knew about all of these measures. He'd known his druid family would've tried to save him nonetheless, so he placed up his own magical ward, again before he had been shackled, so they could not transport themselves magically to his rescue. No one else was going to die for him. Though the knowledge that his family was safe burnt deep inside the beating of his heart he was still stricken into sorrow with the despair and fear of what awaited him. There would be no easy death for Merlin Emrys, for the champion of the druids. All that awaited him was darkness and pain and powerlessness, for he was at the mercy of the merciless. The King and his sword, Prince Arthur, had tried too hard for too long to capture Emrys to do anything less than torture him into insanity. He didn't even have the power to end his own life and spare himself the torment. The tower had no windows and the room had nothing in it besides a few torches welded to the wall, him and the Prince and the chairs they sat in, and Merlin felt like it exceeded his creativity to find a way to end his life using only two chairs, even if Prince Arthur hadn't been there to knock him out. But then even if he had the opportunity for all of his wishing for some control over his fate Merlin wouldn't have done it. His heart and spirit were too strong, too determined and too unbowed to give up. For if he…_did…that, _ended it all, rescue might come a moment later. He could be seconds away from rescue only for whomever it was coming to his aid to find him already dead at his own hand.

No, he wouldn't do that.

The Prince had a sword at his waist but Merlin knew he wouldn't use it, or at least wouldn't use the blade. If Merlin got too rowdy the Prince may hit him over the head with the pommel (again) just to shut him up. He only had the over-sized bread knife in case someone tried to rescue him and required gutting. But this was unlikely as, along with the wards and defences, simply being a tower meant that any potential ground assault would be easily detected. This was probably why they hadn't put him in the labyrinthine dungeons; there were too many underground tunnels in and out of Camelot, too many ways somebody could sneak in close enough to save him.

It made no difference to Merlin where he was. The confinement of the tower was so complete he may as well have been underground, he certainly felt like it, felt like he was already being buried alive.

However, Merlin had underestimated just how determined one of the druids was. She wasn't like the other druids, rendered helpless by their distance, the time it would take to get to the castle or by the despair in their own minds. Nor was she like Kilgarrah, the dragon, bound by his blood not to make any efforts to save Merlin. The only physically possible way to get to Merlin quick enough would be to fly. She could do this. The curse that had forced her to murder every night until after years of people trusting her and loving her had helped her remember herself when she changed was now going to give her the ability to save a life that nobody else could save.

Freya swooped low on the wind on her bat-like wings that were wide and soft and silent. In her mouth, positioned behind her long upper canines, she carried a long metal rod, not iron, that was flattened at either end. On each paddle a different rune smouldered, not yet burning hot and visible as they would when awakened. The metal was burnished so it would catch as little light as possible.

She beat her wings a few times, making a soft _shush shush shush _through the air, looking down at the tower that was some forty meters below her. There was a burning torch at the top of the cone shaped roof and several more in brackets below the roofs edge. She knew from diagrams of the castle, made hastily by frightened yet determined travellers, that those fires were positioned below the floor level of the room at the top of the tower. If she came in to the roof at the height of the rooms ceiling, the bottom of the cone roof, she may be able to land undetected. Fire that would've shone like beacons of Kilgarrah's golden scales wouldn't illuminate her so readily.

Tilting into a wide sweeping dive she steadied her descent with her long black tail. Breathing in the cool night air she smelt both its sweetness and its smokiness. Her black panther body was nearly invisible in the sky, had anyone looked up they would've only been able to see her as a patch of darkness moving quickly before the stars. A patch of starless universe.

Her ears lay down along her neck and the wind hummed softly over the metal rod. As she tilted her head to the left, circling tighter, the hum changed pitch. It was quiet enough that Freya didn't think any of the humans, with their far inferior hearing to hers in this form, would hear it but still, she'd be happier when this whole affair was over and she, and more importantly Merlin, were well out of Pendragon's reach. She was level with the roof-peak fire and unconsciously ducked her head as if it may somehow make the bear-sized, winged-panther flying straight into the jaws of the enemy less visible. Her heart crossed the event-horizon and she committed. Twirling in sharply, circling the tower, Freya flared her wings to bring her body into a vertical position and landed. Her large, soft paws thumped gently onto the ceramic tiles and she pulled her wings and tail in. Clinging onto the roof, huddled low with long belly hair tickling the roof, Freya stilled herself and listened hard with eyes closed. She felt like she was stretching her mind to encompass the entire castle with the effort of listening.

Had anyone heard her? Was that the crackle of fire or the chink of readying weapons? She knew the Pendragon's didn't want to kill Merlin; they wanted to torture him if not for information for their own sadistic appetites, appetites that would eat Albion whole if they could. However if it was a choice between killing him and letting him be rescued she had no doubt that whoever was set to guarding him would kill him gladly.

When she had decided that she hadn't been seen, heard or suspected she carefully turned around to face down the roof, hyper conscious of every movement she made, so aware of the metal rod in her mouth and its proximity to the roof it was like it had always been there and that the awareness was instinctual. Her claws were retracted so the clicking they would make or the ceramic roofing wouldn't alert the captor within. She regretted even the few extra moments of what she knew would be enraged, horrified imprisonment for Merlin but knew it was necessary. And in knowing it was necessary she reluctantly but decidedly put the knowledge to one side; she had to focus if she was going to get them both out of here.

Her paws were more flexible then a regular cats. She had dragon like wings and the dragon anatomy was also evident in the increased dexterity of her paws; this made gripping the roof much easier. Pendragon had iron even up here in the sky and it seared her soul through feet, but she could handle it. Freya peered over the rim of the roof and if this form could've she would smiled wryly.

_Why thank you Uther, for making such helpfully positioned lighting. _

The torches cast a flickering yellow light on exactly the expanse of bricks she wished to break through. This was the tricky part. Sliding down the steep roof slightly before getting a firmer grip she twisted her head to tap one of the metal padels to the wall. The stone shivered, like it was melting, and as it did so Freya reached her right paw down over the rim to brush the bricks gently. For a moment a rune flared gold on the back of her paw before dimming and sliding from her into the brick. At the magical golden flare her shoulders and neck muscles tensed and she looked down into the darkness, but none of the soldiers could see the patch of night clinging to the building through the bright firelight of the torches. She couldn't create spells in this form, but back at the druid camp before she had left Morgana and Mordrid had helped her weave some runes into her Bastet forms' magic. Now it was a much simpler matter of casting them. The rune was the Old Religion symbol for silence.

More confident now that she was guarded from being heard just as much as the fire guarded her from being seen Freya swivelled on her forepaws so that now the roof fell away on her left side. Tapping the stone again Freya watched the second run flow into the rock, multiplying into many burning brands as it dripped like water and ran into cracks between the bricks.

Now came the most dangerous part, though the danger was not to her but to Merlin, even though he didn't know it. The pole she held had two runes on it, one for breaking and one for unbinding. She'd had to have them placed on the pole because they were so powerful that to trace one into her own skin would've broken her bones or unbound her ligaments. Morgana had made them, and she was one of the most powerful druids in the lands. Even more powerful than Mordrid, whose magic often seemed greater than it was due to the malice in his eyes and the threat in his hands.

Getting as secure a purchase as she could with her long-toed hind feet Freya crept her forequarters over the edge of the roof. Her long wings braced on the roof, spindly wing-fingers hugging what of the cone she could reach, all stopping her plummeting head first to the courtyard below due to this bizarre and, she expected, probably undignified manoeuvre. (Bastet's were highly feared creatures, regal and menacing, but the way her hindquarters were thrust into the air didn't do her any favours.)

Hind legs braced and trembling with effort Freya traced the breaking rune across the stone for as far as she could reach in all directions, though this was admittedly not very far. Then as the rock gave a crack silenced by the first magic she had cast she heaved herself back upright, jiggled the pole to rest more comfortably in her jaws, and took off. She didn't strike out upwards or dive downwards but hovered; a surprisingly difficult maneuverer. Then with much tilting of her wings and angling of her body and tail she came around the face the crumbling rock. The rock wasn't falling away, her second piece of magic had been a catching rune and so it hovered conveniently out of the way, and therefore it didn't give away her presence to the soldiers who may have suspected something if parts of the tower starting raining down on them and their colleagues. It wasn't falling away fast enough; she couldn't count on the silencing magic to stop the guard inside from noticing that the windowless room was being drastically and unexpectedly renovated. Twisting her head Freya slammed the breaking rune into the rock again with so much force the rock was blasted apart and she surged forwards. Claws now well out to grip the rim of the gaping hole in the wall Freya gouged her way through the wall. The hole was too small to allow for the long pole to fit but the magic on each paddle made the rocks crumble and melt away.

And then she was in.

Prince Arthur halted in shock, his sword was unsheathed but he had been advancing on, not Merlin who had twisted from where his hands were bound in front of him to the seat of the chair to look at her with equal shock, but where the wall had parted to reveal the Bastet. Freya's eyes quickly scanned Merlin; there was the distinct shadows of bruises on what skin she could see but his eyes were alert and focused. But his black hair was short and spikey; Pendragon had cut off the long traditional druid braids, had shaved his victim none to gently, with knife cuts in his scalp evident by the matted blood dried in his hair and on his neck. This shaving would've served no purpose other than humiliation and degradation. She gave a thunderous snarl and peeled her lips back to reveal her long white teeth that were still clenched around the metal rod. The Prince's face focused into an expression of a warrior in battle and he moved violently forwards. Freya did as well. Merlin gave a shout strangled by the rope tied tightly around his head with the knot in his mouth as Pendragon raised his sword in a great arching blow aimed at cleaving Freya's panther skull open. But Freya had surged forwards as well and came so close he couldn't manoeuvre his sword. Growling like the end of the world all the while she banged his chest and elbows with her close mouth and he fell backwards, twisting into a backwards tumble to get him out of her range. As soon as Pendragon had regained his feet he skittered backwards and away to the opposite wall, putting Merlin between him and the monstrous cat. He then stilled and watched her warily, the cunning of his father lined around his eyes, waiting to see what she would do. Freya padded forwards quietly to Merlin's side, watching Pendragon for any sudden moves. She needed to touch the unbinding mark to Merlin's restraints but the rune was on her wrong side. Suddenly, anticipating this move by the mere beginnings of the tilt of her head, Pendragon launched at her again. Sword thrust before him so she couldn't repeat her pushing manoeuvre the Prince lashed at her eye. She twisted away just in time and the blow opened a deep gash in her thickly muscled neck. Continuing the twisting move she swung around, blood flying behind her, and opened her right wing to once again slam the Prince onto his back. He scrambled backwards and Freya still continued turning and her tail nearly hit the Prince's head as it swung over him. He struck again with his sword but with a flash Freya twisted and blocked his sword with the pole she still held. There was a brilliant silver-blue flash of magic and Pendragon shouted in shock. His blade had connected with the unbinding rune and the blade had promptly parted ways with the cross-guard. The leather grip became loose in his hands and the inlaid iron in the handle fell with small clunks to the wooden floor.

Now positioned with the correct rune near Merlin and Pendragon disarmed Freya lowered the rune quickly, with Merlin standing as much as the bindings allowed him to in order to meet her. The rune flashed blinding silver-blue again and the iron shackles on Merlin's wrists gave an almighty _CRACK _and both split in half away from him. His hands were then at his face, pulling away the rope, and he was gasping out spells thick and fast that made the rope in his hands and on his feet fall away. Freya stood between Merlin and Pendragon, yellow-green eyes narrowed at the Prince, and she let the rod fall from between her teeth. It made a surprisingly soft noise for such a solid metal object and the breaking rune sunk through the wooden floor. The rod sunk down, vertical, until it reached the slightly swollen metal grip in the center which halted its progress, making it stick vertically out of the flaw like a very oddly placed fence-post. Freya wanted maximum freedom to move and took a few steps around the rod, she had no doubt Pendragon had further tricks up his sleeves, with tricks probably being a knife which she'd rather not expose the still slightly dazed Merlin to. The blonde Prince's eyes were darting around, taking in the chairs, the discarded ropes, the handle-less trapdoor, anything that might help him.

_You came, _Freya felt Merlin's gratitude across the mental link all druids were capable of creating. She then felt his gratitude physically, he grasped her wing in hands that, for all of his appearance of collected strength, trembled slightly and clenched hard around her, as if she might turn to smoke and vanish if he didn't have evidence of her presence in his hands.

_Of course I came, _Freya replied, chancing a glance at him before looking back the silent Prince. _What were all of the repelling charms about anyway? Made it damn difficult to get to the tower. _

_I didn't want anyone putting themselves in danger for me, _Merlin's mental voice was quiet and images flashed across her mind. She felt his embarrassment as he quickly drew his mind back, he hadn't meant for her to see those. Images seen from the ground of soldiers looming over him, pain surging in his back and stomach as boots kicked him down and over in the dust. The sensation of tugging at his scalp, a blade sawing through his hair. The pain of the knife accidently slicing into his skin was nothing to the wrenching humiliation and rage as, with his own two hands, Pendragon severed a deep part of Merlin's culture from his psyche.

Merlin saw Freya tense up and knew she'd 'heard' him. Horrified and humiliated he gasped back tears, then his embarrassment evolved, transformed, into a massive ugly hatred aimed at the man who stood before Freya and him, defenceless in the face of Merlin's magic. He stepped sidewards around Freya and raised his hand. He was Emrys and thus didn't need to bother with petty things like spells. He would put his rage and fear and confusion and pain into his magic and send it forth, his magic would do the rest. It would probably manifest crueller and more malicious then anything he could've put voice to, a fact that gave him a wild sort of satisfaction.

Pendragon pressed himself further against the rock at the sight of Merlin's raised hand. Just as Freya had expected he had retrieved a knife from the sheath bound to his arm and held it uselessly between him and his vengeful former-prisoner. Merlin's eyes burnt gold and-

_No! _Freya pushed her big head against Merlin, pushing him back, breaking his concentration. Her mind pushed against his and stoppered the release of his magic.

"Freya!" He snarled verbally, "Get out of the way!"

Freya hissed.

_I said __**no**__,__Merlin!_

"Why? Why shouldn't I? He deserves it! Look at what he's done to me! Think of what he's done to our people. Of what he is yet to do!" His hands, no longer twisted and ready to creature a spell of hatred and torture, pushed against her neck and muzzle to get her out of the way. She pushed him back; she was much stronger.

_I came back to save __**you**__, not to kill __**him**__. _She matched his enraged gaze determinedly.

"Ever heard of multi-tasking," Merlin snarled, light from the torches throwing sharp shadows from his severe cheek bones, like geometric blood stains running down his face.

_Merlin, you want revenge. Revenge is not right._

"So what if I want revenge!" Merlin's mind flashed, images saturated with red, hot and bright and completely out of focus. "He deserves it!"

_It's not your place to choose…_she began but he moved to dart around her, lifting a hand to blast Pendragon into oblivion. Freya, slightly side on between both of them, opened her left wing and swiped Merlin off balance so he couldn't cast his magic. As she'd opened her left wing her right one had mirrored the movement subconsciously and as Merlin staggered, losing his balance and tripping over, Freya felt a punch to the ribs. The punch was dull, but rapidly began to sting and sear. Grunting and gasping Freya whipped around to face Pendragon, her right foreleg nearly failing her as she did so. He was too close and she roared but he was already jumping back with his hands covered in blood.

_I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU! _She yelled at him mentally and Pendragon fumbled his catching of his balance, crashing to the floor as his bloody hands flew to his head as he heard her within his mind.

_Ah, _Freya breathed, cat face twisted in a universal expression of pain as it rolled through her, echoes of her roar.

"Freya? What has he done?"

Merlin was at her side, hands running over her ribs when they brushed something, making it twitch in the wound. She hissed and jerked away.

"He's stabbed you, he stabbed you! I'll kill him!" Merlin lifted his hand again, glaring at Pendragon who had another knife from who knows where in his hand.

_NO! _Freya roared furiously around the pain.

"It's my right," Merlin said in an ugly voice full of the venom of snakes, "look at what he did to you? What he did to me, I have the power of…"

_You may have the power of life and death but that doesn't mean you should use it. _

"I am Emrys!"

_You are fallible._

"I was chosen to defend the druids and bring magic back to the land!" Merlin yelled furiously and Freya braced her stance to reflect her immovable decree for mercy though blood ran down her leg and dripped from her fur.

_Being chosen doesn't matter; it's __**your choices**__ that matter. If you become the saviour of magic by killing any who don't have it, then by definition Uther can be called the saviour of __**his **__people, by slaughtering those who are different._

"Don't compare me to the likes of him!" Merlin half yelled, half yelped with outraged indignation.

_Then do not become like him! _Freya growled verbally along with her mind-speech, _do not become a murderer. For that is what this act would be. It would not be self-defence, he is defenceless against you. It would be murder._

Merlin's eyes flashed with anger, not magic, and his following words were hissed verbally and mentally.

"_You're one to talk about murderers, Bastet!" _

Freya reeled back, stung somewhere deep and incurable with a wound worse than anything fists or knives could inflict. Merlin's expression furious, but then it morphed into mortification as he realised what he had said. He clapped one hand to his mouth and reached the other out to her imploringly.

"Freya! No, Freya, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I take it back. Please, I take it back!"

Freya stepped back from him, getting closer to Pendragon whom she had forgotten in her horror and her humiliation and pain. Pendragon retreated around the circular wall, eyes flicking from the Bastet to the warlock.

Flattening her ears, her fur standing up along her back, she bared her teeth at Merlin and keened. He knew of her self-revulsion at the murders she had committed in her past. He knew how much she feared herself, knew how hard she had worked to control her curse. But he had thrown it at her feet like something disgusting, bared her soul wide so he could spit in her face. And for what? For what?

_Freya, _his anguish crashed into her mind. His horror at his words was a flood, but her mind had floodgates and the waters of his regret broke upon them, not touching the chasm he'd opened up. _Freya I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Please, you're not a murderer._

_Your talk of murder and revenge has made you cruel Merlin, _Freya closed her jaws and eyed him sadly, _don't you see how it poisons you?_

_I won't hurt him, I promise I won't hurt him, _Merlin staggered forwards.

Watching them Pendragon was baffled by the boy's nerve. The massive winged cat's hackles were still raised, her ears were flattened and when he approached she bared her teeth again, but the sorcerer opened his arms wide and embraced her.

She was so big Merlin couldn't get his arms fully around her, but Freya let him fall into her. What he had said was terrible, it had drenched her spine in ice, but she reminded herself that he wasn't in a fit state at the moment to fully control himself. He'd been held captive by their worst enemies for days, he'd been lashing out at her to try and regain some feeling of control over his life. It was no excuse, but it was a reason.

_I'm so sorry, _he whispered again and as he moved back she could see the tears running down her face. He placed his hand to her side and she winced, letting loose a small growl before she bit it back. With one hand he gripped the knife and quickly drew it from the wound. He cast it aside and his magic flared, disarming Arthur simultaneously. The knife from his hand and several which cut themselves free of their scabbards imbedded themselves in the floor, with the blood covered knife bright among them. As Freya shuddered he placed his hand over her ribs and sent forth his love and gratitude and wish for her to heal, and she did. Freya sighed deeply and he moved forwards, towards her head, to run his hands over the other wound in her neck. This closed itself as well. Then, hands covered in her blood, he fell to his knees before her and asked for her forgiveness.

_It's okay, _she dropped her nose to bump against his head. _It's okay. _

Beyond them Pendragon tugged at the knives in the floor which had impaled the trapdoor. He couldn't get them out, nor could he get the trapdoor open.

_I didn't mean it; _Merlin reached up to touch her throat and chest but abandoned the movement halfway.

_I know, _she said. Merlin was trembling, the rage that had left him had left room for the shock to move in, and move in it did. He curled against her, giving every sign of wanting to sit there and be held and loved and told he was safe, but Freya knew that would have to wait. Though Pendragon was disarmed there were still guards outside the tower and, therefore, every chance they wouldn't make it out of this alive.

_Come on Merlin, have courage, _she straightened. As if his spine was forced to mimic hers he uncoiled with her, rising to stand beside her.

_You're right; _he whispered with his heart, _I can fall apart later._

_Indeed, you'll have plenty of time, but for now, _Freya glanced at Pendragon. He stood beyond the small thicket of knives, back still against the wall, glaring at them with fear. She turned away and, in a few strides, had crossed the room to the hole in the wall. Merlin followed her, placing a hand on her shoulder in preparation for climbing on her back. Hearing the slither of leather on wood behind them Freya, alert for danger, twirled on her hind legs. Merlin made a muffled protest when he was squashed between her and the wall but she ignored him. She had turned in time to see Pendragon reaching for the magical rod still impaling the flood.

_Wait! _She said but his hand was already closing around the burning rune for unbinding. His hand spasmed violently and emitted several dull cracks and he jerked it back with a gasp through gritted teeth. This was the very reason she hadn't touched the rune with her own skin; by the looks of it he had multiple dislocations in his hand. Backing away, the last possible avenue for somehow stopping the escapees having horrifically backfired on him, Pendragon hit the wall and cradled his mangled hand.

_Fool! _She thought softly, but there was nothing she could do for his hand; she knew the physicians and healers of the castle would be able to put the bones back in place. She moved away from the wall, back across the room. Pendragon looked at her in pain and anger, but she made no move against him. Turning her head side on, keeping her eyes on the Prince, Freya gripped the rune-pole in her mouth and drew it carefully out of the floor. She couldn't believe she'd nearly forgotten it, it would be asking for trouble to leave something so powerful in the hands of the King. As much has he hated magic, he liked power more, and this would've helped him in many ways in his quest for genocide. Freya turned to move back to Merlin, and the sight of him and her blood on him gave her an idea.

_Merlin, _she said hesitantly. His eyes moved from where they were staring at Pendragon's hand to her eyes. _You don't have to do this but, you could heal him._

_What? _He looked like he thought he had misheard her, though this was impossible in direct mind-speech. _Heal him? Why for the love of Albion would I do something like that? He's a murd…persecutor of our people. He's burnt more sorcerers then I have lit campfires, he imprisoned me, he stabbed you. I won't kill him, but healing him…that's too much to ask. _

Freya moved to him and pressed her nose in his bloody hands, keeping the runes carefully away from him.

_I know, I'm surprised at myself for thinking it…but, I just, I feel…_Freya opened up her mind to Merlin, trying to convey that which she couldn't reduce to words.

-The love druids had of all living things

-Pendragon, evil but helpless

-Prisoners being hurt accompanied by the feeling of wrongness at hurting the weak,

-Mercy.

-Compassion.

_Heal him, build the bridge that must be made if this war is going to ever end. I would heal him but…in this form… _She lifted a paw ruefully.

_But, he's the enemy, _Merlin turned to look at Pendragon who glared at them both and, with his good hand, made a resentful 'shewing' gesture. _We are leaving him alive, isn't that enough?_

Freya gazed into his eyes, and then also looked at Pendragon.

_Maybe nobody has ever shown him mercy before, maybe that is why he doesn't know how to be merciful himself._

_Abstaining from killing him is a mercy, _Merlin grumbled.

_Yes, but he won't see it as such. All he will see is an escaped prisoner and magic that caused him harm. That's all he could see under the guidance of his father. _

Merlin glared at her. It was difficult to have subtle expressions with this panther head, but she attempted an expectant, assured expression. Merlin sighed and looked at her, then looked at Pendragon, then looked at her. He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation and across the room the Prince stiffened. Freya stayed by the window as Merlin moved back across the room, not wanting to crowd the Prince unnecessarily. Her eyes were on him though she knew that now he was free he would be able to protect himself. Watching the warlock with ill-disguised hatred, the Prince moved to keep the knives in the floor between them. Merlin looked back across the room at Freya with an irritated expression, but she made a low thrumming growl in her chest, quite different to those she had used earlier to threaten and warn, to encourage him.

_I want to help… _Merlin began.

_Verbally, Merlin. I mind spoke to him earlier and he didn't seem to enjoy it._

_You mind spoke with the Prince? What did you…? _Merlin asked quickly, distracted.

_Focus, Merlin, _Freya would've made a similar expression to Merlin's earlier exasperated face but couldn't. He seemed to sense her intention over her thoughts anyway and smiled slightly at her before turning back to the Prince.

"I can heal your hand," he said as he moved closer.

"No! Get back sorcerer!" Pendragon retreated around the wall, saw that he was moving towards Freya and stopped.

"I can help you."

"Don't lie to me; you just want to cause more damage."

"If I wanted to hurt you I could've done it already," Merlin raised his hands placating but at Pendragon's horrified expression lowered them again.

"Why haven't you? You obviously wanted to hurt me earlier!"

"Freya told me not to."

Pendragon looked across at the massive beast, obviously trying to reconcile the fanged, winged cat with the gentle name 'Freya.'

"I wanted to hurt you. It would've been revenge, but no amount of wanting can make revenge right. Freya…I needed her to remind me of that," Merlin's voice was soft and sincere, but Pendragon was still furiously terrified.

"I'm supposed to believe that a giant winged cat came along and told you to be a nice little boy and not hurt the Prince?" His voice dripped with derision.

"Well, that's pretty much what happened so…" Merlin looked across at Freya hesitatingly, "Yes."

"Well sorry if I don't buy it! I've seen too much evidence of the cruelty and insanity of sorcerers to believe otherwise. Now leave, like you so obviously want to!"

Merlin glared at Freya,

_You want me to heal this piece of…_

_Just do it Merlin. Trust me._

_Fine, he won't let me close but I'll see what I can do, because you asked. _And looked back at the Prince Merlin raised his hands and lowered his head. His eyes closed but Freya could still see a strip of golden light escape his lids and the air trembled between the former captive and his captor. Pendragon yelled, staggering against the wall to try and escape the magic, but then it was over and Merlin was leaning back on his heels wearily. He turned without bothering to watch Pendragon flex his hand disbelievingly and moved over to Freya, to lean against her shoulders for strength. His imprisonment had taken a lot of his energy, and as flippant as he had been about healing the Prince he had understood why it should be done and had poured his remaining energy into that.

Freya crouched slightly so he could clamber onto her back. He did so and she straightened, allowing him a moment to get a grip both physically and magically on her so he wouldn't tumble off at her first movement.

_Ok, _he said after a moment and she moved forwards, pulling in her wings to fit through the hole in the wall.

"Wait!"

Freya paused and she and Merlin looked back, Pendragon was a few steps off the wall, looking at them over his healed hand.

"Why did you heal me?"

Merlin looked down at Freya, who replied, with a much gentler mental voice then before,

_Because we're not evil, Pendragon. We don't wish you harm._

"But," Pendragon looked up at Merlin which such a human expression that, for the first time, Freya remembered that his name was Arthur, "I captured you…" He looked at Freya, having realised at some point during the night that she was an intelligent being, "I stabbed you."

_And if we returned the favour we would just be empowering the…_she searched for words, _cycle of violence perpetuated by your father. We will defend ourselves, but you were disarmed, any further action would not have been self-defense but revenge. We do not believe in revenge. _

Arthur rubbed his ear with one hand, unused to this mental communication.

"It could've been self-defense…I am the leader of my father's army after all…"

_Are you still going to kill magicians indiscriminately after what we did? After we showed you that we are capable of mercy, forgiveness, and compassion? _

Arthur couldn't meet Freya's gaze.

"I…I don't know…I can't say no but…"

"You can't say yes either?" Merlin asked hopefully. Arthur didn't reply, but he didn't reply in an affirming sort of way.

_Well then it's a good thing we didn't kill you isn't it, _Freya responded. She heard a shout from outside; a soldier had finally noticed the floating cloud of rubble. She looked around anxiously, and then looked back.

"I do apprei..." Arthur was saying, slightly embarrassed, but stopped when Freya moved with distinct purpose in her stride towards the hole in the wall. Peering out she elicited several yells of alarm as some of the guards caught sight of the light reflected off her fur, blood and the metal pole she held.

_We need to go, _She said back to Arthur.

"Wait, I…" Arthur wrestled with himself but there was no more time. Merlin's legs braced around her neck and he held fistfuls of hair and magic as she leant out of the wind, opened her wings, and fell.

As soon as she was clear she gave a massive downstroke of her wings, moving upwards and away from the castle and the light, into the night she called home. Behind and below them Arthur finally found what he wanted to say and, as the sound of castle bells began to ring through the night, both Freya and Merlin heard a distant,

"Thank you!"

The massive watch fires flared high, the giant cross-bows were loaded and swivelled to face the tower, but Freya and Merlin were already gone, disappearing into the darkness like it was a part of them.


End file.
